


Snapshots

by Wheeljack



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheeljack/pseuds/Wheeljack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little peaks into various bots lives at any given moment. </p>
<p>Drabble collection of things prompted or requested from my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starscream / Wheeljack

**What's in a Promise?**

_Starscream / Wheeljack / Promise_

 

A promise, like most things to Starscream, was a tool to be used. He’d made countless over the course of his lifetime, many of them broken – _most_ of them broken. They laid around him, glittering, and scattered with broken edges that threatened to cut any that got close. Promises were so easy to give out, and so easily shattered afterward. What did he care so long as it got him what he wanted? He’d learned long ago that a promise was just another clever trap, something to ensnare and extort and _use_.

Whether he kept or broke his promises depended largely on circumstance. More often than not it was more convenient to leave the recipient empty handed. Why should he _care_ when they were idiotic enough to trust a known liar and backstabber?  Perhaps if he tried a little harder he wouldn’t have quite so many enemies, but that would require him to care as well.

When had anyone kept a promise to _him?_

“Well?”

Damnable blue optics stared at him expectantly, and Starscream wanted to grab the engineer by the shoulders and shake him. He was not a good mech. He was not likeable or trustworthy or anything even remotely deserving of _that_ look, yet the crazy mech unfailingly placed his trust in the Seeker again and again. Wheeljack seemed convinced that he could do _better_ , whatever that entailed. He had tried, and what had it gotten him?

 _Nothing_. No one _cared_ -

“Come on, please?” Wheeljack was determined, his small faux wings uplifted and steady. It was such a small request, a promise easily kept. All it required was his presence.

- _almost_ no one cared.

“No.” The Seeker turned away before he could see the Lancia’s reaction, wings up-swept into a solid barrier. Promises were vile things when they fell from his lips. His clever tongue could weave all manner of enticing words, each carefully placed to form loophole after loophole that placed him squarely ahead of the game.

If there was any mech he refused to throw promises at, it would be the infuriating Autobot standing behind him. Whether Wheeljack realized it or not, it was the Seeker’s own backward way of protecting him.

If he never gave him any promises… he could never break them.


	2. Wheeljack & Strongarm

**Safe**

_Wheeljack / Strongarm / nightmare_

_Implied Ultra Magnus/Wheeljack_

 

The white Wrecker wasn’t sure what had woken him.

One moment he’d been dead to the universe and the next a niggling sense of _wrong_ had invaded his blissful nothingness. He laid there for a moment, processor slowly winding up to something approaching wakefulness. Whatever had woken him had not set off his threat assessment suit, but the feeling of _wrong_ only grew more pronounced the more awake he became.  

His chronometer helpfully informed him it was the Primus-awful hour of too damn early as he grunted and blearily looked beside him. Magnus was absent, and it took him a moment to remember his duty had dragged him away from Iacon for the foreseeable future. Wheeljack hadn’t been happy with it, but it was more from not being able to go with him. The blue mech had been adamant, however. _The wastelands are no place for our younglings_ , he’d argued, and begrudgingly the white Wrecker had agreed for once.

Rubbing at his faceplates, he grunted again and sat up to look around. Nothing else was out of place-

-until a small pair of blue optics peaked at him from over the edge of the berth.

“Strongarm? Bitlet, what are ya doin’ outta your berth?” Very much awake now, Wheeljack rolled to that side of the berth and looked over when the small femme ducked back out of sight. She stood with her helm ducked down, small servos wringing each other in obvious distress.

“Jaja-” Strongarm’s helm tipped up as her servos reached up for him, but a quiet keen interrupted whatever she’d been about to say.

Wheeljack reached down without a word, picking the femme up and cradling her close as he wrapped his arms and field around her reassuringly. She immediately latched on to him, trying to muffle her keens into his chest. “Shhh, sweet thing, you’re okay. Jaja’s got'cha.”

It took several minutes of quiet rumbles and sweet nothings to settle the small youngling but finally she quieted with a small hiccup of her vents. He continued rubbing small circles into her back, dipping his helm to nuzzle her gently. Strongarm returned the nuzzle, her field slowly smoothing from the jagged spikes of fear that had plagued her moments ago.

The sense of _wrong_ eased away with it, and Wheeljack pressed a kiss to her helm. “Better?”

There was a silent nod against his chest, her strong grip still firm as if he might disappear if she let go.

“Ya have a bad dream?”

Another nod, this one small.

“Ya wanna talk about it?”

Strongarm shook her helm this time, a small distressed noise leaving her at the prospect of sharing whatever had driven her from her berth. Wheeljack didn’t push the issue, instead carefully rolling back over with his youngling still tucked close and an ever present rumble from his engine as he settled back down with her.

“Then I’ll keep ya safe from any more,” he promised, keeping vigilant long after she’d fallen back into recharge.


	3. Jazz / Mirage

**With Just a Touch**

_Mirage / Jazz / comfort_

The mission had not gone well.

He’d known the moment Jazz had breezed by him in the hall, field reaching out to his and clinging for all of klik before he was gone. Mirage had followed immediately, visible one moment, and no where to be seen the next.

Words were never necessary between the two. They never really had been, not for a long, long time. A simple brush of a servo over armor plating said more than any number of words could. Mirage only reached out once, one invisible servo gliding across his back before he retreated.

Jazz showed no acknowledgment of the simple touch, voice never wavering as he walked into Prime’s office to give his report. He disappeared from sight as the door slid shut behind him, and the noble took up residence out of the way to wait.

 _Wait for me_ , he’d pleaded.

 _Always_ , he responded, and he always would.


	4. Jazz / Mirage

**A Noble's Concern**

_Jazz / Mirage / in need of repairs_

 

“You are clearly in need of repairs.” The sheer disapproval laden in the golden optics drilling into him was enough to pin the TIC in place. Mirage was one of the few mechs capable of making the saboteur squirm under such a look, but Jazz was as stubborn as they came.

“I just got back, mech. What I need is a trip to the wash racks an’ a date with my berth.” He turned up the charm, field brushing invitingly across the noble’s. “Yer welcomed to join me, ya know.”

Mirage’s field responded to the warm touch, curling into his without question. Relief skittered across the connection, followed by a warm pulse of affection, before suddenly unleashing a cold shock that actually pulled a yelp out of Jazz. “You are injured, and you will see Ratchet if I have to drag you there myself.”

The saboteur slumped.


	5. Starscream / Wheeljack

**How the Game's Played**

_Wheeljack / Starscream / fair_

 

“It’s not fair!” Wheeljack’s voice was raised, and quite nearly bordering on furious. He was pacing in front of the Seeker, winglets slashing angrily through the air at each abrupt turn. There were few things that truly angered the engineer, but much like his inventions, when set off, the burn was fast and explosive.

“Things rarely are. Why would now be any different?” It was a rhetorical question Starscream didn’t expect an answer to. For him, it was merely a fact of life.

“Everyone gets a second chance. _Megatron_ gets a second chance. But not you? It’s – uuugh! - it’s not fair!” Starscream was _trying_. Why could no one else see it but him? It didn’t matter what he did, ridicule awaited every decision the Seeker made. He’d made progress, real, true progress. Cybertron had been stabilizing. Iacon was more than a bombed out a shell now.

“Ah, but that’s merely how the game is played, Wheeljack.”

“This isn’t a game! This is your _life_ , Starscream! Doesn’t it bother you?”

Crimson optics drilled into his for a moment, before turning away to study the ceiling. Wheeljack didn’t miss the wing twitch, and he vented heavily before scrubbing at what was visible of his face. The answer was _yes_ , but Starscream would never admit it. Not to him. Not to anyone.

Not even to himself.


	6. Ultra Magnus & Seaspray

**Lost to the Memory**

_Ultra Magnus / Seaspray / memories_  
_Implied Ultra Magnus/Wheeljack_

 

Ultra Magnus stood silently at the crest of the hill. The barren waste before him was pockmarked with deep gouges, some of them still smoldering from the ordinance responsible for the destruction. Somewhere on the other side Decepticon forces waited to unleash the next volley.

This was the front line.

He was not sure why his mind wandered backwards, delving into times long gone. He considered turning, forcing himself to focus on tactics and plans. Still, he stood there, as time wound backwards. Once, once this area had been a main trade route. Once it had been filled with traders going to and from. The Wreckers had watched over the route, beating back anyone looking to make a quick profit.

He was sure he had stood in this exact spot once, a silent guardian overlooking the plain as his mechs rough housed and joked behind him. It served as nothing but a distraction but still he stood there, remembering.

“Magnus, sir?”

The Commander inclined his helm to acknowledge Seaspray, and a moment later his gaze turned onto the mech. “We head out in three breem. See that the others are ready.”

Seaspray snapped off a salute, but his expression stopped Magnus from dismissing him. He’d approached for another reason. “Sir…”

“Speak your mind, soldier.”

“He’ll come back, Boss. He’s just… being an idiot.”

Ultra Magnus was silent, his only reaction a tightening of the field that most would miss completely.

“Dismissed.”

“Magn-”

“ _Dismissed._ ”

Wheeljack had made his choice, and the Commander accepted it as it was. There was no time to languish on it. Neither was there a point to. The white Wrecker had not stood beside him in a very long time, nor did he expect him to ever again.

The past was the past.

Magnus glanced over the ruined plain one last time.

Perhaps it was better if it stayed there.


	7. Wheeljack & Seaspray

**On Discount**

_Wheeljack / Seaspray / lie_

 

“That’s gotta be the dumbest lie I’ve ever heard you spit out.”

“Didn’t ask for yer fraggin’ opinion, ‘Spray.” Wheeljack was sprawled on his front, dorsal wings lifeless and drooped. There was a semi-permanent grimace on his face that only changed when his systems threatened to purge the concoction currently wrecking havoc on his fuel tanks.

He looked, in a word, pathetic.

“Well, you’re getting it anyway, mech. Magnus ain’t gonna buy that. Not even on discount.”

“Ha, ha, _ha_. Go away. Your voice is makin’ my processor hurt.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s the high grade makin’ your processor hurt.” Seaspray gave the miserable mech a smirk, the glint in his optics making Wheeljack growl.

“ _Don’t_. Don’t even think o-”

“This is where I say, I told you so!”

“ _Slagger!_ ”

Seaspray danced out of Wheeljack’s reach, easily dodging the clumsy attempt to smack his legs. Keeping out of the strike zone, he leaned down and grinned at his smaller comrade. “Why don’t'cha sit tight an’ be the miserable little ball that you are an’ leave the thinkin’ to me, huh? I’ll figure out something to tell Magnus.”

His only answer was a groan as Wheeljack curled even tighter in on himself.


	8. Starscream / Wheeljack

**Just One**

_Wheeljack / Starscream / addiction_

 

It was an addiction, one that Starscream found he did not want to be free from. Wheeljack was gesturing animatedly, optics bright as he attempted to explain his latest project. Theories and facts and the explanations to go with them were filed away, but in that moment it was all meaningless to him. He wasn’t interested in the words.

Wheeljack’s field was light, his posture relaxed. No stiffness. No wariness. Starscream wasn’t sure when it had happened. When had the engineer dropped his guard? Did he even realize it yet? Part of Starscream kept whispering that he would realize his mistake soon enough, that he would find the engineer wary once more the next time he visited.

Starscream didn’t care for those whispers and shut them out as best as he was able. This one thing. He would allow himself this one thing.


	9. Starscream / Wheeljack

**Stolen**

_Wheeljack / Starscream / secret_

 

“May I tell you a secret?”

Wheeljack looked up at the Seeker beside him in curiosity before giving a nod.

Whatever he expected, it did not include Starscream leaning over to steal a kiss.


	10. Perceptor & Ratchet

  **Threat of Loss**

_Perceptor / Ratchet / shaken_  
_Implied Perceptor/Wheeljack_

He had never felt so shaken in his entire life. Indeed, it felt as if his entire world had shifted and shrunk to just that berth; to the monotone beeping of the monitors just beside it; to the painfully still form of his closest friend laid out on that berth. Perceptor was not given to fits of emotion. There was no logic behind letting one's emotion take control and threaten to spiral out into chaos. The scientist thought before he acted. His carefully detached emotions stayed just that: detached.

Looking down on the damaged Wheeljack, with Ratchet's diagnosis playing some grim tune in the background, Perceptor let his servos curl into fists at his sides. There was no logic in what he was seeing. He had checked over the machine personally; had specifically hunted for any problem that would delay them. It should not have exploded. He should not be standing there, barely singed, while the engineer laid in pieces in the Medbay. Wheeljack should not have shoved him out of the way, shielding him from the sudden blast. He should not have-

“ _Perceptor_.”

Ratchet's voice was harsh and sudden. As sudden as the servos prying his own open. The scientist vaguely noted the smear of energon on his servos, and then belatedly the pain registered from where his digits had dug into his palms. He was angry; at himself; at the faulty equipment; at the engineer's thoughtlessness; his selflessness. He was also scared; terrified he'd lose him; fearful of losing himself in that loss.

The medic had him by the shoulders at that point. Shaking him? No, Perceptor realized, he was shaking. His entire form was trembling in the wake of his emotions, and he couldn't bring himself to care. His entire world had shifted again as he focused on the concerned optics of the Ark's CMO; right down to the answer that would make or break him.


	11. Lost and Found (Wheeljack+Others)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over and Cybertron is slowly being rebuilt. Refugees arrive almost daily, but when one incoming ship refuses to answer hails, Wheeljack and Bulkhead are sent out to investigate. Neither of them are quite prepared for the shock they receive.

<< _Wheeljack, sir?_ >>

The white Wrecker still cringed at the title as the sudden comm request rolled over him. Dropping the large beam he’d been about to heft over to his companion, he turned with a flick of his dorsal wings and sent back a short ping of acknowledgment.

<< _We’ve got a ship incoming, sir._ >>

Another wing twitch had Bulkhead giving him a curious look, but he waved his servo for the big green mech to continue with what he was doing. They had ships coming and going quite often now that the rebuilding had picked up full swing. Why they felt the need to inform _him_ of all mechs… He wasn’t in charge of that sort of thing, and if it was new refugees, the operator needed to be telling Ultra Magnus. Not him.

<< _Shouldn’t ya be tellin’ Magnus this?_ >>

<< _Er, yes, sir, but the vessel is heading straight for your area. Commander Ultra Magnus is already en route but he won’t make it before the ship lands. It’s not answering any of our hails and-_ >>

<< _So we got a bogey on our servos. Now yer talkin’ my lingo, mech! Leave it to me an’ Bulk. If it’s got uglies on it, we’ll flatten ‘em… wrecker style~_ >>

<< _The Commander said you might say something like that. He wants-_ >>

The wrecker cut the connection before the other mech could say anymore, a smirk spreading across his face as he turned to face his companion. Bulkhead hadn’t bothered with anymore of the support beams, too curious to know who had contacted him so suddenly.

“What’s going on, Jackie?”

“We got a ship headin’ our way. Could be refugees, could be full of hostiles. I’m bettin’ the latter 'cause they ain’t answerin’ hails.” Wheeljack cracked his neck strut with a sharp twist, actuators already coiling with repressed energy. The wrecker had been going a bit stir crazy as things had settled into a routine. He helped where he could – which usually put him in close quarters with Bulkhead.

They needed heavy lifters for the shelters they were building. Refugees had trickled in at first, but now the flow had grown into a steady stream. News of the War’s end was spreading through out the stars and with it, bots were slowly making their way back home. So far there had only been a few skirmishes, small things that had been easily put down with either threat of imprisonment or outright exile, backed by force if necessary.

Their planet had only just been revived, and everyone had vowed they would not see it laid to ruin again.

“Sounds like trouble, alright,” Bulkhead agreed, stepping around the building materials to follow his smaller comrade. They stopped briefly to inform the gaggle of vehicons they had been helping to continue but to also stay alert. With any luck, whatever was on that ship would be easily dealt with.

“Just like the good ol’ days, eh, Bulk?” Wheeljack elbowed him playfully before folding down into his altmode and revving his engine. Bulkhead laughed heartily before following his example and transforming.

<< _Think I’m actually kinda hoping their comms are down or something. I mean, the war just ended._ >>

Wheeljack took off with his comrade right behind him, a short rev of his engine serving as a snort. << _Ah, suppose I can’t fault ya there. Been goin’ kinda haywire, myself. Ya don’t feel antsy at all, Bulk? Like we should be doin’ somethin’?_ >>

<< _We have been, Jackie. Getting these shelters up is really important. Especially with all the new bots showing up. We’re doing good work._ >>

Wheeljack was silent at that. It seemed he was the only one left with an itch in his circuits. Magnus and Bumblebee had their servos full with the refugees and coordinating the rebuilding. Ratchet and Knock Out were the only two medics currently on the planet and they were busy making sure their refugees weren’t bringing any dangerous viruses with them. Even Arcee and Smokescreen had seemed to have found something to keep themselves busy. The white wrecker shook himself mentally, focusing back on the task at hand.

Their mysterious ship had not changed course, and by the way it was moving… The ship wasn’t just heading toward the area. It was heading straight for _them_. With every inch of ground covered, it angled into a steeper and steeper descent, leaving no doubt in either of their minds. With a silent signal, the two broke apart and transformed.

Bulkhead came up on his pedes with a resounding thump as Wheeljack landed in a crouch next to him. The pair looked to the horizon, zeroing in on the small speck that was their so called guests. It wouldn’t take the ship long to reach them. 

“Think we should hide? Try to get the drop on them?” the larger wrecker asked.

“They already know we’re here, but I don’t fancy gettin’ shot at, either. Over 'ere, Bulk.” The area they had stopped in had once been a large central intersection, ringed in tall buildings that had probably housed thousands. Those buildings laid in ruin, large chunks of twisted metal lodged in the road like angry fallen behemoths. Wheeljack slid behind one, and motioned for Bulkhead to follow. It had enough mass to withstand a direct barrage of firepower long enough for them to react.

“So what’s the plan, Jackie?” The green wrecker was hunkered down beside him, helm peeking over the top just long enough to see where the ship was before turning fully toward Wheeljack. The smaller mech offered him a smirk.

“We’ll ask 'em real nice to come out with their servos up an’ when they don’t-”

“ _If_ they don’t.”

“ _If_ they don’t, we introduce 'em to our fists.”

Anymore planning would have to happen on the fly. The ship was there, the sounds of the twin engines filling the air with a loud roar. Wheeljack’s battlemask snapped into place as one arm smoothly transformed into his cannon. Beside him, one of Bulkhead’s signature wrecking balls made its appearance. The pair held still, ready to move at a moment’s notice as the ship settled above.

Wheeljack chanced a quick look, optics zeroing in on the unmistakable Decepticon emblem branded in plain view on the side of the small black corvette. The ship had seen better days, but the angular form still screamed _dangerous_. He pulled back behind their cover with a hidden grin. The ship wasn’t much bigger than his Jackhammer had been. There couldn’t be more than four or five bots on board, at most. Not unless the Cons had decided to pack it wall to wall like a clown car. Bulkhead gave him a look, one optic ridge higher than the other in silent question.

Wheeljack made the gesture for Decepticons with his free servo, before slowly sliding out of their cover. Bulkhead stayed were he was, ready to provide cover if he should need it. The ship had its landing struts down, and none of the weapons seemed to be active. Whoever was on board, it appeared they wanted a more personal meeting. That was fine by him. He preferred close and personal if this was going to go the way he thought it would. Opening a comm, he addressed the occupants on board with a lazy drawl.

<< _Yer makin’ an unauthorized landin’, champ, so you and yer buddies come out nice an’ slow an’ I won’t have to shoot ya._ >>

“ _Jackie!_ ”

The hushed reprimand went unheard as the ship’s landing struts hit the ground and vents hissed along the underside. Wheeljack stood ready, weapon aimed squarely at the bay doors as they too hissed and then slowly parted. The landing ramp unfolded and hit the ground with a heavy clunk as the white wrecker edged closer.

His scanner picked up a single hit just as a voice drifted out the belly of the vessel. “If anyone’s gonna get shot, it’s gonna be _you_ , ya slagger!”

Shock had the white wrecker snapping up straight, cannon dropping a notch as he stared in disbelief at the mech ambling down the ramp. Behind him, Bulkhead had stood as well, optics as equally wide before a huge grin lit across his face.

One moment he was behind cover and the next he was charging forward with a shout. “ _BARNACLE BUTT!_ ” He rushed right by Wheeljack, heedless of his smaller companion’s grab for his arm.

“Bulk, _stop_ , that’s not-!” It couldn’t be. It was impossible. He’d seen Seaspray’s ship explode with his very own optics. No one could have survived that blast! His scanners hadn’t picked up even a flicker of life! His cannon snapped back up as Bulkhead reached the mech and crashed into him. Up he went, crushed into a strut-crunching hug only the big wrecker was capable of delivering.

“ _Ow_ , hey, _easy_ , Bulk! I gotta bum arm you’re not helping there, big guy.”

Bulkhead gave a sheepish laugh and carefully set him down before excitedly looking back at Wheeljack. He sobered quickly when he saw the scowling wrecker still aiming straight for Seaspray. “Jackie, what-”

“Step away from 'im, Bulk. Seaspray’s _dead_ , did'ja forget? I saw 'im go down with my own slaggin’ optics.”

Bulkhead took an uncertain step back, optics jumping from one mech to the other. Wheeljack’s plating was flared, every line of his body hostile. In contrast, the possible imposter looked nothing short of exasperated, plating ruffling and form slouching forward a bit.

“We’re really gonna do this, Jackie? Primus, I’m really am gonna pop ya one! _Ya left me out there, ya slagger!_ ” Uncaring of the weapon being pointed at him, the grey mech approached Wheeljack with a huff. The red and gold accents winked as the light hit them, and his steps never faltered even as Wheeljack let out a warning growl.

“There was nothin’ left to leave. I _checked_.”

“Ya call _one_ scan before tearin’ off after Dreadwing _checking_?” Seaspray, Bulkhead was _sure_ it was Seaspray, stopped just before their incised friend, leaning his chest straight into the whining weapon Wheeljack refused to lower. “It’s gonna take a heck of a lot more than a bomb to do me in, an’ _ya know it_. Your scanners didn’t pick up anything 'cause I was shieldin’ myself.”

Wheeljack growled low in his throat, but his dorsal wings jerked and twitched, betraying the internal war inside him. Part of him wanted to desperately believe the mech standing before him was exactly who he said he was. The colors, the voice, the absolute confidence he displayed as he gave him the perfect shot at his very spark. It all screamed _Seaspray_.

“An’ the boat ya landed in?”

“Seein’ as how you shot off after Dreadwing and left me stranded, I had to find someway of gettin’ a ride. Sent out a distress signal, and got a pair of Con ships that decided to be nice an’ investigate. I borrowed one. They didn’t much like that, but they can’t exactly complain about it now.”

“Jackie, it’s him.”

“Why didn’t ya answer any o’ the comms when ya came in then?”

“Jackie…”

Seaspray shook his helm at Bulkhead, before planting one servo on his hips. The other hung limply at his side, but the mech seemed unconcerned with the injury. “I wasn’t exactly gentle with her. Neither were the Cons when I got hold of it. Look, Wheeljack, it’s either me or it’s not. Now get it in gear an’ either shoot me or put the damn weapon away so I can smack ya.”

A tense beat of silence followed as the two mechs stared each other down. Blue bit into gold, and for one harried moment Bulkhead worried Wheeljack _would_ shoot him.

The moment was broken when Wheeljack let out one last growl and his weapon folded away into a clenched fist. His battlemask slid away to reveal a scowl. “I swear, if ya-”

_**Clang!** _

True to his word, Seaspray smacked the smaller wrecker in the helm, stunning him silent as he stared at the smirking mech. “ _That’s_ for leaving me behind. _Both_ times.”

Before the white mech could respond, Bulkhead tackled them both. Twin shouts filled the air as their pedes left the ground and the green wrecker was laughing once more as he spun them around in a full circle. Seaspray joined in the laughter, even as he grimaced at the pressure put on his arm. The tension was slow to leave Wheeljack’s form, but once the coiled anger began clearing, even he managed a chuckle.

“Ya realize I was a klik away from shooting yer dumb aft, right?” he groused when Bulkhead finally set them down. Seaspray bumped shoulders with him, grin still very much in place.

“No you weren’t. If there was any doubt left, ya would have slugged me one instead. Your little baby wings give everything away, Jackie,” he teased.

Bulkhead gave a laugh at the expression that crossed Wheeljack’s face and might very well have grabbed them back up for another hug if their sensors didn’t suddenly ping with an approaching signal.

“Now I know _that_ signal,” Seaspray said before giving the white mech beside him a look.

“What?”

“Should I duck an’ cover now, or…?”

Scowling at the teasing tone, Wheeljack stalked forward to meet their rapidly approaching Commander, winglets slicing the air in jagged lines. Bulkhead stepped forward into the spot he’d vacated. “Don’t take it personally, ‘Spray. He’s just embarrassed he overreacted.”

Seaspray snorted, tone full of amusement as he replied, “I know, Bulk. An’ believe you me, I ain’t lettin’ him live down that farce for a long, _long_ time. Com’on. Last time I saw Mags, we had about a hundred slaggin’ Cons between us.”

The pair moved forward to join Wheeljack just as Ultra Magnus arrived and transformed. His much taller form straightened above them all, blue optics sweeping over the newest addition in silence. “Seaspray.”

“Mags,” the grey mech greeted with a two digit salute. His superior did not react beyond a subtle shift of plating as his mouth pressed into a line. Seaspray’s grin remained even as he straightened and gave the mech a proper salute. “Ultra Magnus, sir. Long time no see. Reports of my deactivation were _exaggerated_.”

“It’s him,” Wheeljack huffed when the Commander’s optics fell onto him.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jackie. Does this mean I can recharge without one optic open?”

“Blow it out yer exhaust, ‘Spray,” he countered immediately, giving the bigger mech a shove. Seaspray retaliated in kind, following it with a rude gesture and short burst of static. Bulkhead wasn’t quite sure who to stop first, and part of him didn’t even want to. He just wanted to hug them all over again.

Recognizing the rough housing for what it was, Magnus held back a sigh and instead addressed them all. “ _Wreckers._ ”

The three straightened at the tone, even Wheeljack which earned a curious look from Seaspray.

“Seaspray, it is good to have you returned to us. You were sorely missed.”

“Aw, knew ya cared, Mags!”

Ultra Magnus merely gave him another look, before glancing him over. “Our medic can see to any injuries once we return to Iacon. Can your vessel-”

Bulkhead abruptly cut the Commander off mid-sentence as he caught both bots in front of him and carried them straight into the startled blue mech. The big mech had been a bit too zealous in his haste to catch them all in one final hug, and as they slammed into the ill-prepared Magnus, gravity took hold and spilled them all to the ground.

“…sorry.”


	12. Jazz/Wheeljack

**Gentle Reminder**  
_Jazz / Wheeljack / demand_

Jazz was not the type to demand, not when there were better ways of ensuring he got what he wanted. A few honeyed words here, a good dose of charm there... Where Prowl relied on sheer authority, he played a more amicable angle. Hearing the engineer had landed himself back into the Medbay for the third time in as many cycles, the saboteur was determined to share a few words with him the moment he was released.

He was lounging against the Lab doors when Wheeljack finally came around the corner. Pushing off as his target came to an abrupt halt, he flashed him a grin and a lazy wave. “Just outta the Doc's clutches and yer comin' back for more, mech? Tell me Ratch' didn't tell you to get some rest. I dare ya.”

Wisely, the engineer didn't even try to play innocent. Winglets drooping downward, Wheeljack wilted under the teasing words. If their time together had taught him anything, he knew a Jazz styled scolding when he heard one. “If the Cons would lay off for a day or two I might actually feel like I could take a break. I've got to-”

Jazz cut him off with a disapproving noise, sliding up beside him and snaking an arm around his shoulders. His grip was deceptively light, but they both knew there was no escape for him now. “Not buying it, 'Jack. You're pushin' yourself too far with this. I'll have the Doc yank ya off the active duty roster if I gotta.”

Wheeljack just sank into his side, too tired to put up much fuss in the wake of Jazz's unmoving determination. He'd wasted what little energy he had left arguing with Ratchet over the very same thing. “Please don't. I wouldn't know what to do with myself.”

“How 'bout recharge? Ya know, the thing ya haven't been doin'?” Jazz dropped his arm lower, gentling kneading circles into his back, right between his dorsal wings. The engineer's plating was stiff and unmoving under his servo, and he'd bet the mech's tension wires were wound tight enough to pop.

His field nudged into his, a calming balm over the jittery spikes that plagued him.

“I guess, but what am I gonna tell Prowl? He-”

“You leave Prowler to me. I know what you're doin' is important, but there ain't anything important enough to justify this. Yer health is way more important than any assignment, ya hear?” Jazz tapped his chest with his free servo, dipping his helm to nuzzle against his affectionately.

“I hear you,” he replied, managing a smile despite his fatigue as he nuzzled the saboteur back.

“Thanks, Jazz. I- Well, you know how I am.”

“Do I _ever_ ,” the saboteur laughed, before gently steering the engineer away from the Labs. “I'm kinda attached, remember? Frustratin' as ya can be sometimes...”

“Me?” Wheeljack sputtered. “ _I'm_ the frustrating one?”

Jazz merely laughed, visor winking playfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this one originally, but... You ever have that one cracky pairing that takes a life of its own and suddenly it's one of your serious ships for a pair of characters? ;^; I can count on my hand how many people I know that ship this, so just in case someone else digs this as much as I do... Hope you enjoyed~


	13. What's Best (Magnus/Wheeljack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Post PR] One mech fiercely over protective of his Commander, and the other just insecure enough to lose his temper over it. Fortunately Magnus is quite capable of choosing what’s best for himself. [Prompt] Wheeljack/Ultra Magnus/embrace

Winglets quivered as plating rattled quietly. The white Wrecker was standing ramrod straight, fists clenched at his sides. Energon pounded through his systems, vents expelling the heat building in his primed weapon and targeting suites. It was a miracle he hadn’t erupted and attacked the mech responsible for the current anger crashing through him. It was clear by the surprised look that even Springer hadn’t expected him to turn and stalk off.

Sheer willpower kept him moving, kept him from turning back.

The rage coiled around him, his field lashing around him in a red-hot whirlwind. The sharp crack of his pedes hitting the metal floor was warning enough for most. Those unlucky enough to pass by too closely, jumped back at the scalding waves coming off the small wrecker. He didn’t stop to apologize. He even breezed by Bulkhead and Seaspray, the former of whom was left fretting and calling after him as the latter wisely held him back.

He wasn’t sure where he was going. _Away._ Preferably as far from the half-clocked slagger that thought he knew everything. He didn’t know anything, and he certainly didn’t know _Wheeljack_. His anger threatened to boil over again as the green mech’s words replayed in his processors. They were mere whispers, but they held all the power of a freight train set for a head-on collision.

A head-on collision with _him_.

“ _Ya don’t know a slagging thing about me!_ ” he snarled, fist lashing out to slam into the wall. It was only then that he realized where his pedes had taken him. He’d just stepped inside Magnus’ quarters, the door shuddering closed as the wall rattled from the violent strike.

He took a few more steps in, stopping in the middle of room and bowing his helm. His fists were still tightly closed at his side, digits near grinding into his palms. His fans were running hot, the sound filling the silence as he worked to calm himself down, to get hold of the rampant anger still threatening to go out of control.

Springer’s words should not have affected him. The mech didn’t know him, didn’t know a single slagging thing about him. His words were meaningless, _empty_. Ever since the mech had turned up with Seaspray, he was always there, ready with some sort of accusatory remark or look.

_Who the frag did he think he was?_

Wheeljack startled as twin blue arms wrapped around him from behind. His field flared instinctively, whole body stiffening as vorn long self preservation flared to forefront. A solid wall of calm crashed down over him as his back met a broad, solid chest, the mech’s arms tightening in response to the smaller wrecker’s charged reaction. For a split second he almost thrashed, almost tried to lash out, to attack and hit and scream and _yell_.

Instead he sagged like a stuck ballon, frame going lax against the broad form of Magnus, vents still expelling hot air loudly as the red slowly bled out of his vision. He was still angry, still raw, but the feeling was dulled, numbed. The larger mech’s calm radiated through him and for a long moment the pair simply stood there.

“Wheeljack.”

The sound of his name stirred him from the haze he’d fallen into, helm rising just enough to acknowledge the other mech. He found his pedes back on the ground a moment later and the soothing field around him retracted cautiously.

Wheeljack’s own field surged in response, tangling itself right back into Magnus’, refusing to sever the connection as he leaned back into the mech. He didn’t trust himself not to work his anger right back up. He didn’t care if he came off clingy, if he came off weak. He was a mess and he knew it and Magnus knew it and for once he just didn’t care.

Careful servos came to rest on his shoulders, but Magnus did not push him away. The larger mech’s field skittered against his, slow to reengage, but a strong, sure presence as their fields threaded back together slowly. The white wrecker buried himself into that calm, desperate to drive off his anger lest he lash out at _him_.

“What has happened, Wheeljack?”

Blue optics opened, looking up to meet Magnus’ steady gaze. Once, he would have saw a blank, uncaring stare. Now he could see what he’d been blind to for so long during the war. Magnus’ optics were darkened subtly, the corners of his mouth down turned slightly more than normal. He was concerned and if there was any doubt left, his entire field was clouded with the emotion.

How could he have been so blind for so long?

What could he even say? His insides twisted as the angry words shot through him all over again. Magnus had been happy to see Springer when he’d arrived. They were _friends_. The damn mech had been his Second, and unlike Wheeljack, he hadn’t stormed off and left him to fight a war. The anger stirred again, this time directed inward at himself.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s right.” He started to pull away, his field withdrawing tightly as his anger began to build. The embers were still white hot, his drifting thoughts threatening to stir them back into a inferno. The mech’s words should have slid right off him, but they hadn’t.

“What fraggin’ good am I?” They hadn’t because they were _true_.

Strong servos tightened on his shoulders, refusing to release him as the Lancia jerked forward. Realizing just how turbulent the smaller mech’s emotions were, Magnus surged his field again, blanketing him in another serene wave. Wheeljack fought it at first, engine snarling low at being held but the fire broke against the blue mech’s unwavering determination.

Wheeljack cursed and the words started tumbling out of him. Springer’s barbed accusations, his own rebukes and insults. Just how close he’d come to punching the slagger. How much he still wanted to. The pair had slowly been building toward a confrontation, the only common ground an unspoken agreement to keep Magnus out of it. It didn’t really matter in the end. The green mech had been right and there was no getting around it. He was no good. 

The hardest part was admitting it out loud.

“I’m useless. All I’m good for is fightin’, mech. One wrong word an’ I blow my top. Why do ya keep puttin’ up with me, Magnus? He’s right. I ain’t no good for you. Who says I won’t just get angry at ya fer somethin’ stupid an’ take off again? No good fer ya. Never have been, an’ the smarmy bastard knows it.”

Magnus had gone still during the rush of words, field drawing tightly to his armor as he slowly processed what had happened, what Wheeljack was saying. His optics narrowed after a beat of silence, the irises growing brighter as the first whispers of anger skittered across the large mech’s field.

It was enough to startle Wheeljack, his own anger stalling as he saw and felt something he hadn’t expected: _protectiveness_. For him. Anger – not directed at him – but for him, on his behalf. It left the white mech off balanced, unsure. He had expected the larger mech to defend Springer. To argue Wheeljack had read too much into it, that he was overreacting. Not-

“It is not Springer’s place to dictate what or _who_ is best for myself.” Magnus’ voice was low and steady.

“He’s right, tho-”

“It is not his place.” The words grew momentarily sharp, optics flickering as the Commander took a moment to vent quietly. “You ask why I ‘put up with you’? It is because I wish to. It is because I prefer you here, at my side, than else where. Yes, we quarrel. Perhaps one day you will leave, but you have proven to me that the past need not repeat itself. You have proven that some things are worth reclaiming. There is a time and place for grievances to be aired and Springer has chosen poorly in this instance.”

Wheeljack didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut. Part of him wanted to argue, to point out how many times he’d already screwed up, how many times he would probably continue to do so. Sometimes it was all too easy to fall back into old habits, no matter how much he hated himself for it afterwards. It was easy to let his anger take control, easy to bury himself into it so he could ignore the actual problem, and the consequences.

“Still no good for you,” he muttered finally, all the fight momentarily bled from him.

Magnus gave him a measuring look, field carefully sliding against his as his servos tightened meaningfully. “I have decided that you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I may eventually write out the actual argument with Springer, because he has some legitimate concerns. For this, though, I wanted to focus strictly on Magnus and Wheeljack, as I see this as an important turning point in their relationship. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> And yes, for those that caught it, this is loosely connected to my other Wrecker drabble, Lost and Found. One day I will get to writing an actual fic with all these events in it, rather than scattered all over the internet. XD


End file.
